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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28479633">A Dark Tinge to the World</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/menel/pseuds/menel'>menel</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Relationship, Diners, Established Relationship, Groundhog Day, M/M, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 15:14:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,705</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28479633</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/menel/pseuds/menel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank Castle arranged to meet Murdock at a Waffle House, only he can't remember why. Then, the meeting keeps happening . . . again . . . and again . . . and again . . . </p>
<p>The Punisher is having one of those days. </p>
<p>Written for the 2021 New Year's Day Daredevil Exchange.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Frank Castle/Matt Murdock</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>95</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>DDE’s 2021 New Year’s Day Exchange</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Dark Tinge to the World</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/feathers_and_cigarettes/gifts">feathers_and_cigarettes</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Happy New Year's, feathers_and_cigarettes! Here is your DDE gift! </p>
<p>As you probably guessed from the summary, I used the prompt 'Waffle House.' Please forgive the Waffle House inaccuracies. I lived in the U.S. as a child, but I honestly can't remember visiting a Waffle House. Also, I'm almost certain that this fic is not what you expected given the overall mood of your prompts (not to mention the holiday season), but I hope you enjoy it anyway. :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Frank was blinded by the overhead light. He blinked. Once. Twice. He was aware of sitting down, his arms in front of him resting on a table. As his vision cleared, his own hands came into focus, his right hand lightly gripping a white coffee cup, the heat from the cup warming his fingers. His body felt relaxed, even if his mind was disoriented. </p>
<p>“Ready to order?” a familiar, but unexpected voice asked him.</p>
<p>Frank looked up. Murdock was sitting across from him in the white booth. And it was definitely Murdock and not Red. Murdock was dressed in civilian clothes and not those ridiculous red pajamas, the slightly loosened tie and the somewhat rumpled white shirt indicating that it was the end of a long day. Frank quickly glanced down at his own clothes: black shirt, black jeans, black jacket. O-kay. That was normal. When he looked up again, Murdock was sliding the menu to him across the table. The other man couldn’t have possibly read it since the menu had a smooth laminated surface, which made Frank wonder how Murdock knew what to order. Had somebody else read the menu to him? The waitress, maybe? Had <i>Frank</i> read the menu to him?</p>
<p>Frank caught the name of the restaurant at the top of the menu: Waffle House. <i>Huh</i>. What the hell were he and Murdock doing at a <i>Waffle House</i>? </p>
<p>“Ready to order?” another voice echoed Murdock. Female, this time. </p>
<p>Frank looked to his right. A waitress had seemingly materialized by their table before he could finish getting his bearings. </p>
<p>“I’ll have a steak and eggs,” Murdock told her. </p>
<p>“And how do you want those eggs, honey?” </p>
<p>“Over easy.” </p>
<p>The waitress turned to Frank. He caught her nametag. Cindy. </p>
<p>“What about you?”</p>
<p>“Same,” Frank replied. “With a side order of hash browns, scattered, smothered and covered.” </p>
<p>Across from him, Murdock chuckled. “Why not just go ‘all the way’?” he teased. </p>
<p>Frank was momentarily distracted by that teasing smile – a smirk, he thought. He couldn’t recall Murdock ever looking at him that way. Even the Devil’s sharp smile beneath his mask cut differently. </p>
<p>“Next time,” Frank told Cindy, but his gaze was still fixed on Murdock’s mouth. (Murdock’s super senses couldn’t know that, right? That Frank was <i>staring</i> at his mouth.) </p>
<p>“All righty,” Cindy said in a chipper voice that made it seem as if it were morning, but couldn’t possibly have been. What time was it, anyway? “Be back in a few.”</p>
<p>“Thought you wanted something sweet,” Murdock said, when Cindy was gone. “Didn’t you say something about the pecan waffle?” </p>
<p>Frank had no idea what Murdock was talking about. “Changed my mind,” he said smoothly. </p>
<p>Murdock’s nod was thoughtful, <i>too</i> thoughtful for Frank’s liking. It was a nod that conveyed that Murdock knew more than he did (like what the hell was going on) and Frank didn’t like that one bit. He looked down at his wrist and was shocked to discover that he wasn’t wearing a watch. </p>
<p>“You got the time?” he asked Murdock. </p>
<p>“It’s a little after 5pm,” Murdock answered, though <i>how</i> Murdock knew that Frank wasn’t sure. It’s not like Murdock had checked the time either.</p>
<p>Frank had so many questions. What were they doing here? What kind of meeting was this? An exchange of intel? Reconnaissance? Had Murdock come from work? Where had <i>he</i> come from? Was this a social call? Frank mentally crossed off the last question. Nah. Whatever the hell this was, it wasn’t no <i>social call</i>.</p>
<p>He felt antsy. Off kilter. And he knew that Murdock could <i>sense</i> it. Frank didn’t know how those fancy senses worked, but he knew enough not to underestimate the Devil. Murdock could read people, and though Frank kept things close to the vest, it also meant that Murdock could read <i>him</i>. He slid out of the booth and stood up abruptly, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket.</p>
<p>“Gotta use the restroom,” he said, turning on his heel before Murdock could reply. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the other man nod before sitting back against the white booth. </p>
<p>Frank scoped the Waffle House as he headed for the restroom at the far end of the diner. It was the standard Waffle House, compact in design and efficient. They were sitting in the second to last booth of the diner along the wall of windows. To his left, he passed the counter with its rounded stools and the cooking area behind it. The restroom was right in front of him. Frank opened the door. He didn’t actually need to use the restroom. He was buying time to figure shit out. That explained why he headed for the sink and automatically splashed his face with water. He felt like he was sleepwalking, like the whole thing was a dream, except if he had a dream about Murdock, they sure as hell wouldn’t be in a <i>Waffle House</i>. </p>
<p>The door opened behind him. For a moment, Frank thought that Murdock had followed him. He knew that his reflexes were slow, but he didn’t think they’d be slow enough for a stranger to come into the restroom and knock him over the head.</p>
<hr/>
<p>“Ready to order?” </p>
<p>Blinding light. Warmth on his fingertips. A lightly gripped coffee cup in his right hand. A throbbing headache to go with his disorientation. Great. </p>
<p>Murdock was sitting across from him in the booth. Although his peripheral vision hadn’t taken her in yet, Frank knew that the waitress – Cindy, wasn’t it? – was standing to his right. </p>
<p>“I’ll have a steak and eggs,” Murdock told Cindy, as Frank’s sense of déjà vu grew stronger. </p>
<p>“And how do you want those eggs, honey?” </p>
<p>“Over easy.” </p>
<p>Cindy turned towards Frank, her actions perfectly mirroring her actions from before. “What about you?” she said, in that same inquiring but homely tone.</p>
<p>Frank was starting to get his wits about him (even though he understood <i>less</i> of what was going on). “I’ll have a pecan waffle,” he replied. “Hash brown on the side, scattered, smothered and covered,” he added. He glanced at Murdock as he said the last part of his order, wondering if Murdock would make the same joke. </p>
<p>There was the anticipated chuckle and the soft lips that curved into the teasing smirk (Frank was less distracted by it this time). “Why not go ‘all the way’?” </p>
<p>“Next time,” Frank said automatically. </p>
<p>He watched Murdock intently as Cindy said in her chipper voice, “All righty. Be back in a few.”</p>
<p>“Frank Castle with a sweet tooth,” Murdock noted, when they were alone. He brought his own cup of coffee to his lips and drank. “Who’d have thought?” he asked rhetorically, returning the cup to its coaster. </p>
<p>Frank surveyed the diner again. Nothing about this place was setting his instincts off, except for the fact that they were in a <i>Waffle House</i>, and he was here with <i>Murdock</i>. Outside the wide windows, there were no distinguishing landmarks. He couldn’t see a street name, but they weren’t on some dusty highway in the south either. How far out of the city were they? Jersey, perhaps? Some other part of New York state? Wasn’t there a Waffle House in Brooklyn? (This wasn’t Brooklyn.) </p>
<p>“Castle.”</p>
<p>Murdock’s voice in that undertone of command always made Frank snap to attention (much as he hated it). Command was hardwired into his system, not that he thought of Murdock as his CO. </p>
<p>“You okay? You seem . . . distracted.” </p>
<p><i>Ha! Distracted</i>, Frank thought. Murdock had a way with words and he wasn’t even doin’ any of his fancy lawyer shit. </p>
<p>“Yeah,” Frank said, drawing out the word, his actions and tone of voice incongruous with what he was saying. Even behind the red-tinted glasses, Frank could read the skepticism on Murdock’s face. </p>
<p>“So, why’d you call me here?”</p>
<p><i>Ah, fuck</i>. It was probably time to come clean. Frank leaned forward slightly, dropping his voice, although no one was sitting near them. </p>
<p>“Listen, Red,” he said. “You’re a human lie detector, right? You know when folks are BS-ing you. You know when <i>I’m</i> BS-ing you.” </p>
<p>“You’re a bit harder to read than most,” Murdock said, in a surprising admission. “But yes. I know when you’re BS-ing me.”</p>
<p>Frank took a deep breath, exhaling it slowly. “Right,” he said, as though he were preparing himself. “So, you’ll believe me when I say I <i>don’t</i> know what we’re doing here. That I can’t seem to remember anything beyond a few minutes ago, and I think this has already happened before.” </p>
<p>“Happened before?” Murdock repeated.</p>
<p>Frank gestured a little agitatedly between them. “This,” he said. “It’s the second time we’ve ordered. You ordered steak and eggs both times. I ordered a steak and eggs the first time, but then you made some comment about a pecan waffle. So, the second time I ordered a pecan waffle. Then you made the same corny joke about going ‘all the way’ <i>twice</i>,” he threw in for good measure. </p>
<p>Murdock looked unperturbed, which silently maddened Frank. “Are you saying that we’ve been to this Waffle House before?”</p>
<p>“No,” Frank said, with an exasperation that Murdock didn’t deserve. “I’m saying that we’ve ordered twice <i>today</i>.” When Murdock didn’t react, Frank continued. “After I ordered the first time, I went to the restroom. Somebody knocked me out and when I came to, I was back in the booth and we were ordering . . . <i>again</i>.” </p>
<p>“I think that’s the most unbelievable thing you’ve said so far,” Murdock commented. </p>
<p>“What is?” </p>
<p>“That some stranger knocked you out in the restroom.” </p>
<p>“Oh, for fuck’s sak– ” </p>
<p>“Hey.” </p>
<p>Murdock’s sudden grip on his wrist silenced Frank. Clearly, Red’s reflexes were <i>not</i> slow. No, the Devil was as quick and perceptive as ever.</p>
<p>Murdock also dropped his voice when he said, “I don’t know what’s going on with you. But you’re right. I can tell that you’re being sincere, even if you aren’t making any sense.” He released Frank’s wrist and Frank had to curb his impulse to grab Murdock’s wrist in return. The contact was reassuring. It confirmed that Murdock was <i>real</i>, even if everything else was some kind of dark dream. </p>
<p>“So, what now?” Frank asked. </p>
<p>“What’s the last thing you do remember?” Murdock questioned. “<i>Before</i> we ordered?” he added.</p>
<p>Frank considered this, but he drew a blank. His long-term memory appeared to be intact – his thoughts flitted through his youth, his time in the marines, his wife, his kids, his first encounter with Red. But anything recent appeared to be lost. Why was he with Murdock in the first place? Why would he contact Murdock at all? Irritated, he took a big gulp of his coffee, returning the cup to its coaster a little too forcefully.</p>
<p>“Nothing?” Murdock surmised. </p>
<p>Frank shook his head. </p>
<p>“Then, I’ll tell you what I know.” </p>
<p>Frank leaned forward again. </p>
<p>“You contacted me. Asked me to meet you here.” </p>
<p>“How?’ Frank questioned. “Did I call you?” Did he <i>have</i> Red’s number? Since when? </p>
<p>“No,” Matt replied patiently. “Through the dead drop.” </p>
<p><i>What?!</i> They had a dead drop? Why would they need a dead drop?</p>
<p>Frank’s confusion must’ve been plain on his face because Murdock said, his voice now laced with concern, “You don’t remember the dead drop?” </p>
<p>Frank blew out an irritated breath. “No,” he said stonily. </p>
<p>Murdock was going to say more, but Frank’s eye noticed the man wearing black that was coming up behind Murdock. <i>This</i> guy set his instincts off. Murdock must’ve sensed something as well because Frank saw the sharp angle of his head and his sudden stillness. The man’s right hand was in the pocket of his jacket. Just as he reached Murdock, Murdock’s cane flew out and tripped him. The knife that he’d been hiding clattered to the floor. Before Frank could even get up, Red was on top of the guy, punching him squarely in the face and probably breaking his nose. By now, Frank was on his feet as well. </p>
<p>“Behind you!” Murdock suddenly shouted. </p>
<p>Frank spun around, but his assailant was too quick. For the second time that day, he was knocked unconscious.</p>
<hr/>
<p>“Ready to order?” </p>
<p>Frank’s head was ringing, things slowly coming into focus again. Voices washed over him. Murdock and Cindy. Vaguely, he was aware of the laminated menu in his left hand, the heat from his coffee cup in his right. Murdock was ordering steak and eggs again. Over easy. </p>
<p>“I’ll have a pecan waffle,” Frank said by rote. “Hash brown on the side, scattered, smothered and covered.” </p>
<p>There was a beat, followed by, “Why not go ‘all the way’?” </p>
<p>“Next time,” Frank said, dutifully following the pattern. </p>
<p>“All righty,” Cindy chirped. “Be back in a few.”</p>
<p>When Cindy had left them, Frank leaned forward again. “Listen, Red,” he said in a low voice, eyes once more scanning the diner. The man in black was nowhere to be seen. Presumably neither was his companion who’d knocked Frank out. Unfortunately, Frank hadn’t managed to get a good look at him. All Frank knew was that he <i>wasn’t</i> the same guy who’d knocked him out in the restroom. “I need you to humor me for a sec.”</p>
<p>Murdock looked unimpressed. “That presupposes you <i>have</i> a sense of humor,” he said, taking a sip of his coffee. </p>
<p>Frank let the jab slide. “Pretend I’ve got amnesia,” he went on. “Or short-term memory loss. Tell me how I contacted you. Tell me about the dead drop and what we’re doing.”</p>
<p>The tilt of Murdock’s head combined with his preternatural stillness informed Frank that the Devil was sitting in front of him. Murdock could shift between his personas seamlessly, but only a handful of people knew the Devil’s secret, fewer still could <i>see</i> the changes as they were happening. Frank was one of those people. Murdock seemed to have made up his mind about something because he sat back, his body language continually assessing the situation. Frank had no doubt that Murdock’s senses were picking him apart. </p>
<p>“I got your message yesterday,” Murdock began. “Told me to meet you here.” </p>
<p>“Is this our regular meeting place?” </p>
<p>There was a slight lifting of Murdock’s brow. Surprise. “Yes,” he said. “Your choice,” he added, as though anticipating Frank’s next question. </p>
<p>“How long have we been meeting?” </p>
<p>Now Murdock sat forward, arms on the table. “Three weeks,” he answered. There was something in Murdock’s body language that gave Frank the impression that Murdock was probing him somehow. Frank’s odd behavior had caught Murdock’s interest. “What’s going on here?” he asked. “Are you telling me that you can’t remember as far back as three weeks ago? Because that’s no longer short-term memory loss.”</p>
<p>Frank sort of grunted, unsure of how much to say. He didn’t know what was going on himself. Then, he remembered how well Murdock had taken his previous explanation of ‘ordering twice’ – coolly calculating, unflappable when he was the Devil – and he reconsidered. Murdock was his best option right now of trying to figure things out. He was about to reply, but their food arrived.</p>
<p>“Here you go, boys,” Cindy said in her ever-chipper voice. She placed a plate of steak and eggs in front of Murdock, then a pecan waffle in front of Frank, followed by his side order of hash brown. “All good?” she asked them. </p>
<p>“Smells good,” Murdock replied with one of those winning smiles. Cindy beamed at him, and Frank thought it was a shame that Murdock couldn’t see it. (He probably knew that Cindy was smiling at him. Murdock always seemed to <i>know</i>.)</p>
<p>Frank couldn’t help himself. He scanned the diner again as Cindy left their table. </p>
<p>“Why do you keep doing that?” Murdock said, even as he was cutting into his steak. “You expecting trouble?” </p>
<p>“Been ambushed twice today,” Frank explained. “So yeah, wouldn’t be surprised if trouble turned up.” </p>
<p>“You? Ambushed? <i>Twice</i>?” The incredulity in Murdock’s voice was plain, though he outwardly didn’t show it. </p>
<p>“Yeah, yeah,” Frank grumbled. “Let’s eat,” he said, irritated at Murdock’s amusement, irritated at himself, and realizing that he was <i>very</i> hungry. Hell, Murdock could probably <i>hear</i> his stomach growling. Literally. </p>
<p>There was the faintest upturn in the corners of Murdock’s lips, but the Devil didn’t say anything.</p>
<p>Ten minutes into their meal – ten minutes of blissful silence – Murdock spoke. </p>
<p>“So, why Waffle House?” </p>
<p>Frank started. </p>
<p>“We could meet at any diner,” Murdock went on. “But you were very specific about Waffle House, and I don’t think there’s anything particularly strategic about this branch.” He shrugged. “I’ve been wondering for a while now.”</p>
<p><i>Three weeks</i>, Frank filled in silently. <i>And you’re asking me today because you know I’m out of sorts. The little shit</i>. He poured a bit more syrup onto his waffle. It was too sweet now, but this was how Frank Jr. always like his pecan waffles. </p>
<p>“Maria – my wife,” he added, as though Murdock wouldn’t know who she was. “She was originally from the south. Georgia. Every time we went down to visit her folks with the kids, we ended up at a Waffle House. Before I knew it, it was like a –” </p>
<p>“Family tradition,” Murdock finished for him.</p>
<p>Frank looked up. Murdock had stopped eating and was staring straight at him. It was unnerving, knowing that Murdock was blind. Yet, at that moment, Frank thought Murdock might’ve been able to see into his soul, see how black it had become. It almost didn’t feel right talking about his family to the Devil. But at the same time, it made all the sense in the world. </p>
<p>“Yeah,” Frank agreed, meeting that blind gaze. “Family tradition.” </p>
<p>The moment felt charged. Why? Frank didn’t know. But he could <i>feel</i> it, which meant that Murdock could feel it too. It was Frank who looked away, instinctively scanning the diner again. (How many times had he done that already?) If he was gonna be ambushed, now would be ideal timing. </p>
<p>No such luck.</p>
<p>“Waffle House has a pretty loyal following,” Murdock was saying, smoothly diffusing the unexpected tension between them. “Especially down south, which is Waffle House country. It makes sense that your family would be part of that. Good food, good prices. Legendary hash browns,” he added, gesturing at Frank’s plate. </p>
<p>“Which is why you didn’t order them yourself,” Frank groused back, grateful for Murdock’s consideration. </p>
<p>“I’m a grits man myself,” Murdock replied. (There it was again, that teasing smile. All for Frank.) </p>
<p>“You got southern blood in you?” Frank questioned. “How does a kid from the Kitchen get into grits?” </p>
<p>“No southern blood,” Murdock confirmed. “But Sister Catherine was a southern lady.” (The smile was wider now. Not teasing. Genuine. Warm. It confused Frank.)</p>
<p>He looked down at his almost-finished waffle. He still didn’t know what he was doing here, why he’d contacted Murdock in the first place, why they used a dead drop. They had to be working on something, right? But since when did he and Red do team-ups? Team-ups that were planned and prepared, and not just some unfortunate coincidence on one of those dark nights? Since when did they have a <i>meal</i> together? </p>
<p>It was time to go to the restroom again.</p>
<p>Frank stood up. “Be right back,” he told Murdock. </p>
<p>Mindful of the fact that he’d been ambushed in the restroom the first time, Frank was extra cautious as he walked to the back of the diner. Even then, that didn’t stop a man (another stranger) from blocking his path as he reached the restroom door. There was no knock over the back of his head this time, but a needle piercing Frank’s skin and a fluid being injected into his system. </p>
<p><i>Fuck</i>.</p>
<hr/>
<p>“Ready to order?” </p>
<p>Frank’s head hurt even worse this time. His vision hadn’t come back either, but he knew what was going on. He tried to focus on the warmth from the coffee cup in his hand before he spoke. </p>
<p>“He’ll have a steak and eggs,” he answered on Murdock’s behalf. “Over easy on the eggs,” he added. “Pecan waffle for me. Hash brown on the side, scattered, smothered and covered.” As an afterthought, he said, “Side order of grits for him.” </p>
<p>There was a surprised silence coming from Murdock’s side of the booth. Cindy looked a little surprised herself, since she’d been addressing Murdock and not him, but she recovered quickly. </p>
<p>“All righty,” she said, her chirpiness not helping Frank’s headache. “Be back in a few.”</p>
<p>“I’d say that was a good guess,” Murdock told Frank when they were alone. Frank knew that Murdock was referring to their orders. Murdock’s relaxed posture was gone. There was an alertness about him that bode well. “Except I’m fairly certain that you weren’t guessing. Grits?” </p>
<p>The inflection in Murdock’s tone as he said the word ‘grits’ was plain to Frank. <i>How did you know that I like grits?</i> It was a challenge and Murdock was not pleased.</p>
<p>Frank didn’t care about keeping the Devil happy. He wasn’t happy himself. He leaned forward, grabbing Murdock by the wrist. The Devil’s reflexes were so fast that Frank was fortunate he hadn’t been hit for his actions. </p>
<p>“Red,” he said, so seriously that Murdock stilled. “I need your help. I don’t know what the fuck is going on here, but something is. And I need your help to figure out what.” </p>
<p>“Start at the beginning,” Murdock ordered.</p>
<p>It was an unintentional bad joke to Frank and he chuckled derisively. “Fuck man,” he said quietly. “That’s where we are,” he said, knowing that his words wouldn’t make any sense to Murdock. “At the goddamn beginning.” Just as suddenly, he released Murdock’s wrist and sat back. He was tired and his head throbbed. </p>
<p>Murdock hadn’t moved from his position. “Start at the beginning,” he said again. </p>
<p>“No,” Frank told him stubbornly. “I need to know what we’re doing here.” Somehow, Frank sensed that this information was important. He’d been distracted before. By the meal. By the conversation. By learning that Murdock liked grits thanks to Sister Catherine. </p>
<p>“Well, I can’t tell you that,” Murdock replied curtly. “Since you’re the one who contacted me.”</p>
<p>“No,” Frank repeated, reining in his frustration. “I mean, tell me what you and I are doing. What we’ve <i>been</i> doing, for the past three weeks. We working together on something? Something big?”</p>
<p>It was Murdock’s turn to sit back in his seat, his lips a thin line of displeasure. Frank quietly marveled at the acrimony between them. It was familiar and it made him sad. It was a far cry from the good feelings, the brief camaraderie and ease that he’d shared with Murdock only a few minutes ago. But of course, Murdock wouldn’t remember that, would he? </p>
<p>Frank tried a different tactic. “You know the film <i>Groundhog Day</i>?” he asked. His non-sequiturs today were something to be proud of.</p>
<p>The look of displeasure on Murdock’s face morphed into a look of confusion, mingled with a dose of disbelief. “I haven’t watched it,” he said. “But I’m familiar with the concept.” </p>
<p>“What if I told you that I’m trapped in a <i>Groundhog Day</i> of my own?” Frank questioned. “And that this is the fourth time we’ve had this conversation, the fourth time that we’ve ordered? Steak and eggs for you, a pecan waffle for me. Though I also ordered steak and eggs the first time,” he amended. </p>
<p>Murdock was silent for a moment. Then he said, “I suppose I’d ask what event resets your loop. If ordering marks the beginning, then what happens to make you wind up here?”</p>
<p><i>Huh</i>. That was totally not what Frank had expected Murdock to say and something eased in him at the question. Murdock was the right person to help him figure this out. His careful, analytical mind, not to mention those super senses, were going to help Frank immensely. </p>
<p>“I keep getting ambushed and knocked out,” Frank explained. “First time in the restroom, second time out here in the booth. You took the first assailant out, but I missed the second one. Third time a guy stuck me with a needle. Each time it was a different person, but I didn’t recognize any of them.” He leaned forward again. “Your turn,” he said. “What’re we working on?” </p>
<p>“How much do you know?” </p>
<p>“Nothin’ Red,” Frank said, barely able to contain his frustration. “I don’t know a god-damn thing, except we have a dead drop and we’ve been using it for three weeks.”</p>
<p>The silence between them was thoughtful. Murdock was assessing him again, gauging how much truth Frank was telling, how much Frank was holding back. Well, Frank was nothin’ but truth today, and there was no holding back anymore. </p>
<p>“Schultz contacted you about a month ago now–” Murdock began. </p>
<p>“Schultz?” Frank interrupted. The name registered with him, but not clearly enough.  </p>
<p>“<i>Senator</i> David Schultz,” Murdock elaborated. “You dealt with him before? You remember that?” </p>
<p>“Yeah,” Frank said slowly.</p>
<p>He remembered. That whole mess with Amy and Pilgrim and the Schultz family being behind it all, just to protect their precious son’s reputation and his future bid for the presidency. But why would David Schultz contact <i>him</i>? They weren’t exactly on the best of terms, especially not after Frank’s kidnapping and hostage stunt. Oh, and the little detail where Frank murdered David Schultz’s <i>mother</i>.</p>
<p>“Turns out Schultz didn’t want to just talk to you,” Murdock was saying. “He also wanted to talk to me. And somehow, he was under the impression that we worked together.” </p>
<p>Frank shook his head, disbelief in the action. “Just ‘cos you and me bust a few drug rings, take down one or two arms deals and make the local news don’t make us buddies,” he muttered under his breath. </p>
<p>“You’re preaching to the choir,” Murdock said clearly and without missing a beat. (Frank had briefly forgotten about the super hearing.) </p>
<p>“What then?” Frank asked, ignoring Murdock’s comment. </p>
<p>“You set up a meeting,” Murdock replied.  </p>
<p> “And what did Schultz want?” </p>
<p>“He has a problem,” Murdock stated. “One that can’t be solved through ‘official’ means, so we’re helping him with it.” </p>
<p>“You and me?” Frank said, gesturing between them. “Working together? Like <i>partners</i>? For a US senator?” </p>
<p>“Don’t get excited, Frank,” Murdock admonished. “You’re making it sound dirty.”</p>
<p>Frank was about to come back with a quick retort until he realized that Murdock was teasing him, and it wasn’t the first time it’d happened today. It was just the first time it’d happened in this loop. (Because Frank was more and more convinced that he was stuck in a <i>Groundhog Day</i>-style loop.) </p>
<p>“Heads up,” Murdock suddenly said. “There’s a man approaching behind you. What’re the chances that he’s going to knock you unconscious or stick you with a needle?”</p>
<p>“High,” Frank said, standing up to meet the stranger. No way was he going to be ambushed from behind again. “Not this time, buddy,” Frank said, walking forward and placing the stranger in a headlock before he could react, yanking his arm forward in a painful angle to see whatever he was trying to hide behind his back. </p>
<p>“What the hell!” came the man’s angry cry. A mobile phone fell out of his hand and clattered onto the floor. </p>
<p>“Frank!” Murdock suddenly yelled. </p>
<p><i>Ah, fuck</i>, Frank thought, just before he felt a needle jab his neck.</p>
<hr/>
<p>“Ready to order?” </p>
<p>Frank didn’t bother to open his eyes. His headache had come back with a vengeance. In fact, his headache was getting noticeably stronger and lasting for noticeably longer each time the loop started. That couldn’t be good. </p>
<p>This time, Frank didn’t interrupt Murdock. He let Red order his steak and eggs. But when Cindy said to him, “What about you, honey?” Frank didn’t reply. His eyes were still shut, which must’ve seemed strange (and rude). It was all he could do to sort through the pain of his headache. </p>
<p>“Is your friend all right?” Cindy was asking Murdock, breaking their usual pattern.</p>
<p>“I think so,” Murdock replied, but he didn’t sound convinced. “He’ll have a pecan waffle,” Murdock went on, ordering for Frank. “With a hash brown on the side, scattered, smothered and covered.” </p>
<p>Frank’s eyes flew open. “You remembered,” he said to Murdock, oblivious to Cindy’s presence. </p>
<p>Murdock didn’t respond. Cindy looked between the two men. No one spoke. </p>
<p>“All righty,” Cindy said in her chipper voice. “Be back in a few.” </p>
<p>When Cindy had left them, Frank leaned forward. “You remembered,” he said again. </p>
<p>“Remembered what?” Murdock questioned, sounding genuinely perplexed. </p>
<p>“My order.” </p>
<p>“You keep mentioning pecan waffles,” Murdock said dryly. “It was an educated guess.” </p>
<p>“And the hash brown?” </p>
<p>“We’re at Waffle House,” Murdock said, as though the answer were obvious. “It’s a specialty here.” </p>
<p>“But you were specific,” Frank persisted. “Scattered, smothered and covered.”</p>
<p>Murdock’s mouth was quirking into an amused smile. “A lot of people order hash browns that way,” he said. “The specialization is part of Waffle House’s charm.” </p>
<p>Frank huffed, his hope that Murdock’s memories had survived the resetting of the loop fading. Great. Now what? He was back to square one. </p>
<p>“Frank,” Murdock said. </p>
<p>Frank didn’t respond as quickly to the undertone of command, but he still recognized it. “What?” he asked dully. </p>
<p>“You okay? You seem . . . off.”</p>
<p>Frank chuckled. “Eloquent as always, Red,” he said. His headache had subsided a little and he could think a bit more clearly now. “You ever wish you could just make things stop?” he questioned. “Like there was some magic button you could press and everything would just stop?”</p>
<p>“Pretty sure everybody’s wished that at some point,” Murdock replied. He tilted his head. Frank was used to that action when Murdock was the Devil. He wondered if Murdock was listening to something in particular now, some impossible sound that only his super-hearing would pick up. </p>
<p>“Is that your superpower wish?” Murdock asked. “That you could stop time?” </p>
<p>Frank chuckled again. “That’s pretty funny coming from a guy with actual superpowers,” he said. He was grinning now. </p>
<p>“Heightened senses,” Murdock corrected, but he was grinning too. This kind of banter felt familiar, though it shouldn’t have.</p>
<p>To hell with David Schultz and dead drops and guys with needles trying to incapacitate him. Couldn’t Frank just have a meal with Matthew Murdock, blind lawyer of Hell’s Kitchen in a diner that had special meaning, that reminded Frank of his family? Maybe his unconscious was trying to tell him something, choosing Waffle House as a regular meeting place with Murdock. Maybe he just wanted to <i>see</i> Murdock. </p>
<p>“Food’s on its way,” Murdock said.</p>
<p>As if on cue, Cindy appeared again bearing steak and eggs, a pecan waffle and a side order of hash brown. <i>Grits</i>, Frank thought absently. He’d forgotten the side order of grits. </p>
<p>“Sorry, Cindy,” Frank said, as she placed the hash brown next to his waffle. “Can we get an additional order of grits?” </p>
<p>“Not a problem, sweetie,” Cindy said. “One order of grits coming up!” </p>
<p>Frank gave her a grateful smile. Sometimes it paid to have the chipper, good-natured waitress. </p>
<p>“A hash brown <i>and</i> grits?” Murdock said, sounding skeptical. “That’s a little overkill, isn’t it?” </p>
<p>“The grits are for you,” Frank told him. At Murdock’s questioning look, Frank added, “Sister Catherine, right? The southern lady?” </p>
<p>“Ah,” Murdock said, his expression thoughtful, his mood mellow.</p>
<p>Frank liked this Murdock. He was better than the more combative (albeit analytical) Murdock from the previous loop, but not as mellow or as amiable as the Murdock of the third loop (the Murdock who had quietly gotten Castle to confess the personal meaning of Waffle House to him). So far, Frank liked that Murdock best. </p>
<p>“Let’s just enjoy our meal, yeah?” Frank suggested. He’d already begun cutting his waffle.</p>
<p>Murdock didn’t say anything to that, so Frank took his silence for agreement. Besides, Murdock was also cutting into his steak. Take out the strange circumstances and Frank thought this almost felt like a date. The dopey grin on his face grew wider and he was thankful that Murdock couldn’t see it, even as he was certain that Murdock would be able to sense his good mood. (Murdock seemed to be able to sense <i>everything</i>.) </p>
<p>The meal was quiet and peaceable. Frank was losing interest in what he was supposed to be meeting Murdock for, what kind of work David Schultz had asked them to do that required a team-up, why David Schultz would be going <i>outside</i> the law at all. He found himself asking Murdock about his work, about Karen and Nelson, about the mundane things that were happening in Murdock’s life when he wasn’t being Daredevil. Murdock didn’t comment on the questions, didn’t make a jab that Frank was being too intrusive. He answered them calmly and fairly soon, they were having an honest-to-god conversation.</p>
<p>Frank had put too much syrup on his waffle again. What was left of his pecan waffle was drowning in syrup. Even Murdock had commented on it. His headache had also returned. Maybe there was too much sugar in his system. (Frank did <i>not</i> have a sweet tooth.) But you got high from sugar and this felt more like the crash after the sugar high. The plate in front of him began to swim, the syrup looking like slow-moving waves buffeting against the waffle. </p>
<p>“Frank.” </p>
<p>Frank lifted his right hand, resting his head against it. </p>
<p>“Frank.”</p>
<p>Murdock’s voice was distant. Woozy. No, <i>he</i> felt woozy. And his head. It was pounding. He shut his eyes. </p>
<p>“Frank.” </p>
<p>“Stop dosing him!” </p>
<p>“This shit’s not working.” </p>
<p>“You’ll fry his brain and then what good will he be?”</p>
<p>There was a grumbling reply that Frank couldn’t make out. He was sitting upright, but his body felt like lead, a dead weight. His wrists were tied down to the arms of his chair. His head lolled in front of him, his chin almost touching his chest. He felt like his head might explode. </p>
<p>“Hey, Castle. Castle!” </p>
<p>Someone gripped his chin viciously, yanking Frank’s head up. Frank couldn’t even open his eyes. His eyelids were too heavy. Then, a thumb was prying one of his eyelids up. The glaring light hurt. </p>
<p>“Damn, his pupils are shot. We ain’t gonna get anything out of him for a while.” </p>
<p>There was a loud clattering sound. </p>
<p>“Hey! Put the fucking lights back on!”</p>
<p>The grip on Frank’s chin was gone, and his head droped to his chest again. Frank could taste the blood in his mouth. He became aware of the swelling on the left side of his face. He must’ve looked real pretty. There was a commotion in the room. Short bursts of gunfire. Men shouting. Frank found himself chuckling, coughing up a bit more blood in the process. </p>
<p>“The Devil’s here, assholes,” he muttered to no one in particular.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Frank’s head still hurt, but it wasn’t the blinding pain from before. Opening his eyes was difficult too. In fact, his left eye was swollen shut. The whole left side of his face felt like a grapefruit. </p>
<p>“Water,” he rasped, even though he wasn’t sure if anyone was in the room with him. </p>
<p>There was a dip as someone sat beside him on the bed. (Oh yeah, he was lying down. Were these <i>silk</i> sheets?) A straw was brought to his lips. Frank sucked on it, appreciative of the cool liquid that went down his throat, washing the taste of the blood away. When he was finished, the straw was removed. Frank made a concerted effort to open his right eye. Murdock’s face came into view and the other man did not look pleased. </p>
<p>“Red?” he said, uncertainly. </p>
<p>“What did I say about going in without me?” </p>
<p>Frank had no idea what Murdock was talking about (a familiar theme for the day), but he could guess. “Not to?” he offered.</p>
<p>“Right,” Murdock went on, as though Frank were a disobedient schoolboy. (Frank felt like a disobedient schoolboy.) “We’re a team, right? We have been for months.” </p>
<p><i>They were a team?</i> Frank wondered, but was smart enough not to say aloud. <i>For months?</i> Was it April Fool’s? Frank put those questions aside. “Where am I?” he asked instead. </p>
<p>“Home.” </p>
<p>As far as Frank knew, <i>his</i> bed didn’t have silk sheets. He didn’t say anything, but Murdock must’ve sensed something anyway because he said, “You don’t remember anything, do you?”</p>
<p>Frank hesitated. His brain felt scrambled. “My memory,” he began, before pausing. “It ain’t reliable right now.” </p>
<p>Murdock nodded, as though he expected that answer. “You were given some hardcore drugs,” he confirmed. “It’ll take a while to flush them out of your system. In the meantime, memory loss is a common side effect. We’re fortunate that there’s no permanent damage.” This time, it was Murdock who hesitated. “You don’t remember <i>me</i>?”</p>
<p>There was something in the way Murdock emphasized the word ‘me’ that made Frank’s breath catch in his throat. He was missing something, something real important, and it had to do with Red. He wanted to buy time. “’Course I remember you, Red,” he said. </p>
<p>Murdock’s sigh told Frank that he’d given the wrong answer. Damn. </p>
<p>“I mean, yes,” Murdock backtracked. “You remember <i>me</i>, but you don’t seem to remember our relationship.” </p>
<p>
  <i>Relationship?</i>
</p>
<p>Frank was saved from answering by the sound of animal steps entering the room, accompanied by the distinct smell of dog. Said dog thrust its face beside Murdock, before propping its front legs on top of the bed so that it could reach Frank. Frank was reaching out with his hand before he even realized it. </p>
<p>“Hey girl,” Frank said, patting her on the head. </p>
<p>Murdock sighed again. “Should I be insulted that you remember the dog but not your boyfriend?” </p>
<p>
  <i>Boyfriend?</i>
</p>
<p>Frank’s gaze snapped up to Murdock’s face, but Murdock didn’t look upset. If anything, he looked amused. </p>
<p>“Are you hungry?” Murdock was saying. “It’s late. You probably haven’t eaten for hours. I can make something.” </p>
<p>Murdock was about to stand up, so Frank grasped his arm, keeping him in place. “Hey,” he said. “Back in the core, there was this trick we were taught to withstand interrogation under duress –” </p>
<p>“You mean torture,” Murdock interrupted.</p>
<p>“Torture,” Frank conceded. “It’s a way to block out the pain. You let your mind drift. You let it focus on a good memory, something important, something <i>meaningful</i>. For me, that used to be Maria. And yer right, I don’t remember what happened, but you know what I <i>do</i> remember? You. It was always you.” Frank shook his head, pushing himself up into a sitting position. His body protested at the effort. “It was real trippy, Red. I thought I was stuck in some <i>Groundhog Day</i>-style time loop with you. At a <i>Waffle House</i>.” Frank began to laugh. “I spent most of that time tryna figure things out – something about David Schultz and a job we were doing together – but by the end, I didn’t give a shit anymore. I just wanted to go out on a date with you.”</p>
<p>The amusement on Murdock’s face had softened to something warmer and more affectionate. It made Frank’s heart beat a little quicker. It felt like the first time Murdock was looking at him like that, but Frank knew that couldn’t be right, not if Murdock was his <i>boyfriend</i>. </p>
<p>Murdock leaned over, pressing a kiss to Frank’s forehead. “Just so you know,” he said. “We <i>are</i> doing something for David Schultz, something off-book since the Senator needs our help. And we have been going to Waffle House lately, whenever we’re out of the city. You’ve been craving their pecan waffles and their hash browns. Scattered, smothered and covered,” he added. “The pecan waffle. It was Frank Jr.’s favorite dish, right?”</p>
<p>Frank chuckled, shaking his head again. “Maybe my memory’s not as fucked up as I thought,” he said, grasping Murdock’s arm again and giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’m gonna remember everything, Red. You know that, right?”</p>
<p>“I never had any doubt,” Murdock replied. He stood up and Max the dog jumped onto the bed, taking his place. Max threw herself on her side, stretching out along Frank’s side, her head nuzzling into his forearm. “Look after him, Max,” Murdock said. “Chicken noodle soup?” he said to Frank. </p>
<p>“Sounds good, Red. Sounds real good.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Fin.</b>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Everything belongs to Marvel and Netflix. No infringement is intended; no profit is being made.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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